Wild Child: A New Chapter
by Crysti-Lei
Summary: This is an introduction to my Original Character, Wild Child. The morning after she rids New York City of a crime boss, she gets a phone call offering her work in Chicago. She accepts the offer and embarks on the first chapter of her life that is truly he
1. Chapter 1

She wakes. Unusually, she doesn't open her eyes straight away; this morning she waits for consciousness to fully take hold. Quite quickly her mind warms up; the lumpy couch, that explains the discomfort she feels, that smell; sweat, food and god knows what, definitely home. Now she remembers; she had spent the night on the lounge room couch.

Taking a deep breath of that comforting, familiar smell she opens her eyes. The room is vast, with a vaulted stone ceiling of dark cobble. The light was dull and unnatural, there are no windows. This has always been her home; in fact she was born in this very room 19 years ago, that same night her mother had died.

She rubs the sleepiness from her eyes, the movement triggered pain in her knuckles. Examining them, for the first time she is aware of the open wounds, crusty with someone else's blood. She gives an unsympathetic chuckle as her thoughts dwell momentarily on the poor soul whose face had been the cause. She'd hate to be him right now, bruised and leaderless.

It had been a great fight. Though the whole night was not completely without flaws, she felt she had fought well. If it hadn't been for the years of discipline, and teaching herself to find honor in humbleness, she'd have been proud, though humbleness was always one of her weaker points.

On the table beside her she notices several empty bottles. A small celebration of victory, but it also explains the deep sleep from which she just woke. She wasn't celebrating alone, but she must have been first to sleep. Another explanation; the shabby, patched blanked covering her must have been placed there lovingly by one of the others.

It was a strange feeling that filled Jesse this morning, one she had never fully felt before; Aimlessness. Usually she'd be awake far earlier than this, and with purpose she would train. First; her body, with several hours of grueling martial arts exercises. Then she would work her mind, with meditation and study. This had been her mornings her as long as she could remember. But now, with her goals fulfilled, a new purpose had not yet shown its face.

So, as a reward for last night success, she would claim these next few hours of her own. The day was hers, to do with what she wished. Discipline was also not one of her strengths.

As she sat up, the extent of her discomfort dawned. Every muscle ached, every joint stung. She was suddenly and painfully aware of many fresh bruises covering her body, thankfully, no broken bones, and it seemed the only flesh of hers that had been opened was that on her knuckles.

Without revealing her pain in the slightest, she stretched her body before standing up. She wasn't tall, but then she wasn't notable short either; slightly below average height, roughly 5'5". Her body was athletic, but incredibly feminine, disguising well the strength it contained. Having slept fully dressed, she wore loose fitting cargo style pants that sat low on her round hips and a white singlet shirt that hugged her body closely, revealing a maturity in her curves.

The room looked like part of the New York sewer system, but on closer inspection, it was actually a hidden lair, a large common area with large hexagonal archways leading off on two levels. This underground phenomenon, accessed by the cities sewers, was well lived in, loved and filled with homely clutter; an eclectic mix of oriental and American nick-knacks, all dusty and pre-owned, but well loved.

Jesse slipped her feet into her shoes that sat beside the old couch and wandered silently across the common room to a large set of blast doors, installed by her father when he was younger than her. At the press of a button, the door way opened and she found herself in a sewer pipe.

She followed the same path through the sewer she always had, where, after a few hundred yards it faithfully led her to a manhole. She effortlessly scaled the ladder and she shifted the manhole cover above as silently and it would allow.

Sunlight poured into the sewer and showered the young woman's face. She was pretty, beautiful even, again well disguising her capabilities. She raised herself up into the New York alley way, the air was cold and crisp, and surprisingly fresh for this deep in the city. Perhaps, she thought, the city had felt this was a new chapter as well.

As quietly as she has moved it, she replaced the man-hole cover. She looked around as she stood up; a dead end rose for stories behind her, and equally high were the old apartment blocks that lined the alley, the path to the street was just wide enough to fit a garbage truck and was lined with bins, rubbish and the cardboard quarters of homeless men and women. Tying back her shoulder length blonde hair, Jesse headed out onto the street with the coffee shop on the corner in mind.

She joined the bustling street, thousands of New Yorkers in their early morning march to the office. Jesse stood out like a saw thumb, not only due to her lack of a masculine pant-suit that the passing women wore, but it was mid fall, in a cold city, and she wore nothing more than cargos and a singlet. The cold had never bothered her.

She moved through the crowd like no one else in this huge city. No one made eye-contact with her, yet the crowd seemed to part to allow her through. No one so much as brushed past her shoulder yet they seem considerably unaware that she was even there. She had practiced this subtle manipulation of the crowd's energy most of her life; when she was much younger and still a student of her Aunt, she found that it was the safest way for a small girl to travel on a busy street.

She stopped at a newsstand and, without a word, bought the days paper.

Surely they would know by now, she thought while hoping that this time the police got the story straight. She new she left all the evidence proving her enemy's illegal activities right under their nose. They couldn't possible get it wrong.

Saving the day's news to enjoy with her coffee she folded the paper and carried it under her arm as she crossed the road and entered the coffee shop.

She found the smell both sweet and suffocating as she crossed the shop to the counter and ordered a latte. While she waited she watched the other customers as they, sleepy-eyed, sipped their mugs and paper cups. She was fascinated by them, how they hated what they did every day, and dragged themselves from home to a job they were convinced was important. Quite often she admired their discipline.

She knew that her charge in life was, however painful and dangerous, important; she had even accepted that the anonymous New Yorkers would never know, let alone thank her. She had been raised to appreciate her life as a gift as no science she or her father could find said her conception was possible. The family remained eternally grateful for their little girl and raised her as they were raised, as a protector and guardian.

Once her coffee was served, she sat in a corner booth and opened the newspaper. She quietly smiled as her eyes passed over the headline:

_Tycoon Murdered, Corruption Revealed_

They had gotten it right. They had found the evidence she left available to them. Though killing was not what she did, and she hated that she had to do it in order to save her own life, she reasoned that, in doing so she saved many others. She had been trained her whole life to make decisions like the one she made the night before, though that hadn't made it any easier for her to live with it.

As she read through the article, she found a lot was missing as there was no mention of her vigilante justice or details of the killing. She knew the police would know a lot more than they would release to the media and, as she expected, there was no mention of what she found beneath the mask of man she killed.

She finished the article and continued through the newspaper. There wasn't any other mention of the battle she fought the previous night, though she was happy to read that peace talks were being considered in the Middle East.

Finishing her coffee she stood and folded the paper as she left the shop. The crowd had thinned as the working day had started and contentedly, she headed back to the alleyway.

As Jesse crossed the road, a mobile phone in her hip pocket began to ring.

As a means of feeding her family, she offered her services as personal security, tailored for those too arrogant or famous to admit they were feeling threatened enough to require personal protection. She was a body guard that looked nothing like a bodyguard, able to blend in as a guest at a red carpet gala. She resented this menial work, but it paid very well and her family ate.

She answered the phone.

"This is Vixen, how may I help you?" She worked under an alias.

"Are you the body guard, you know, the Fox?" asked a nervous, hushed voice from the other end.

Jesse stifled a smile.

"It's all a matter of opinion, but I guess, on a good day, I can fit that description." Making people feel awkward was a game of hers.

"I am wanting to procure your services," the voice continued, sounding slightly shaken. "You see, an associate of mine was..." there was a pause and the caller struggled to find his words, "... murdered last night. The event had prompted me to step up my own security, and I hear you are the best"

"Murdered, you say?" Jesse asked, with an idea as to whom the caller may be referring to.

"Yes, most unfortunate. I am told it was gruesome. Decapitated, they said." The caller was sounding somewhat flustered now.

The description of the murder had confirmed the identity of his associate. The unfortunate decapitation had resulted from a gun being drawn as Jesse was armed with a katana blade. It was her or him, and her impeccable reflexes decided it would be him that night. She regretted having to do it, but it had to be done.

It appeared that purpose has just come knocking... or calling, as it were.

"I can help you, but with such an imminent threat that has proven a willingness to kill, you must understand that my services will cost more." This was a variation on a standard statement she used as it easily exposed callers that had no intention of paying her. A hazard of her work, people thought it would be easier to kill her after she had completed services; she now, however, insisted on payment upfront.

"That's fine, whatever price you set. When can you start?" The answer threw her slightly, as his disregard for cost suggested that she wasn't to get paid, but the caller indeed feared for his life. Of course it was always possible that this was a trap, but in her experience traps always left a trail, and when followed, always answered questions.

"Where are you?" She asked.

"Chicago." The answer followed hushed and quickly.

"I can be there tonight. Where in Chicago can I find you?"

"Limburger Plaza, I have an office on the top floor of the tower. I am Lawrence Limburger" The latter part was brushed over and barely audible. This was quite common for her clients seeking her services, forever ashamed of their fear.

"I'll see you there at 9pm tonight, Mr. Limburger." She hung up and picked up her pace to get home. In all her research over the last year, she had never linked the man she killed last night to the business tycoon of the nearby city, but it did make perfect sense.

The blast doors closed solidly behind Jesse as she entered the Lair. She walked across the vast common room and was greeted by her father and uncles who had clearly just woken up and were having the same reward of a lazy day she had planned.

"Where'd you go? We were worried," asked her concerned father. He, like his bothers was not anything you would expect to see, knowing they were related to Jesse. The result of a genetic mutation, the four brothers could best be described as humanoid turtles, though muscle bound and strongly built, they were far more noticeable by the fact they were green and sporting shells. To a stranger's eye, the brothers could be most easily distinguished from one another by the colours that they donned. Jesse's father, Donatello, wore a purple mask across his eyes.

"I went out the get the paper." She lied, as she felt a stab of guilt for not bringing coffees for each of them. She walked past the old couch and into an alcove that functioned as a makeshift kitchen, where the four turtles were rummaging for breakfast. She passed the newspaper to her Uncle Leonardo, who wore blue. He unfolded it and read the headline.

"Good to see they didn't focus on us again, they seem to have gotten the point." His voice trailed of as he read the article that followed.

While Leonardo read, Jesse and the others sat down at the table quietly, and served up cereal for breakfast. Her father gave her a one armed hug.

"I am proud of you, you know, you did so well last night." He said quietly.

"We're all proud of ya', Wild Child. You were amazin'." Her uncle in red, Raphael, added. Wild Child was what her family had always called her; it came from a song of the same name by a band that her mother had introduced the family to, The Doors. The song told of a child savior of the human race. They all found it fitting and her spicy childhood temper hadn't helped.

Michelangelo, the turtle donning orange, grunted in enthusiastic agreement, as his mouth was full of fruit loops.

"Thanks," she blushed. "But last night wasn't the half of it; I have just got a call from Lawrence Limburger in Chicago, wanting me as his personal bodyguard. Apparently an associate of his was decapitated last night."

She told them the details of the phone call and a long discussion followed. The family discussed every aspect of the job offer, from the possibility of a trap, the risks involved and the advantages that could be gained. By lunch time it was decided that, trap or not, it was an opportunity that couldn't be missed and, as the four brothers couldn't leave the city, Jesse was to travel to Chicago alone.

She had never really left the city, let alone been separated from her family for more then a few days. She had never had to as she had always considered herself, like her uncles and father, a protector of New York, but the snippets of information they came across in their long running saga with Milton Maredsous, it had become clear that they were dealing with something bigger than just New York City.

By early afternoon Jesse was packed and ready. The plan was to hitchhike to Chicago, book into a motel and be ready to meet Limburger at his tower at the agreed time, but not before scoping out the plaza, planning an exit strategy and checking for traps.

It was only just passed 3pm when she was saying her last good byes. In each hand she carried a medium rucksack. One filled with weaponry and the paraphernalia of her trade, a bo staff and two sheathed katana swords which protruded from each end. The other bag contained clothing and personal items. Slung on her shoulder was a loosely woven, hemp guitar case, the guitar it held was old and beaten, but she insisted on bringing it with her, as a reminder of home.

Convincing her worried family that she would look after herself and keep in touch, she climbed the ladder, passed her luggage up through the man hole the lifted herself out into the familiar alley way and headed out onto the New York street to find the first bus to the highway.


	2. Meanwhile, in ChiTown

Three Martian mice sat around a dinning table eating hot dogs and drinking root beer. They were accompanied by a young brunette woman in work overalls. One of the Mice, the tan furred one, was reading the day's newspaper.

"Ha! Look at this. I bet old stink-face is running scared." The leader laughed; his voice soft and cool. He passed a newspaper to his comrades and together they read the article Throttle had indicated about a New York business tycoon murdered the previous night in his office tower.

"Maredsous? I didn't even know he was here." Exclaimed Vinnie; the white Martian mouse.

"Well, he isn't anymore, is he?" The Largest of the three, Modo, added.

"Earth definitely had a guardian angel in New York last night. Milton was one of the worst there is, even limburger was scared of him, but that doesn't say much, does it." Throttle spoke. The information seemed to be supplied for the woman's sake as she nodded in understanding.

"Strange isn't it," Charlie, the human woman, spoke as she scanned through the article, "they don't say anything about who might have done it, or how it was done. What do you reckon they know?"

"Hard to tell. Charlie ma'am, but if you ask me, he was taken out by one of their own. Plutakians are like that. Conniving bastards, anything to get ahead" Modo, the grey furred mouse answered, his voice was deep and strong.

"Yeah," agreed Vinnie, "I wouldn't put it past our very own big cheese himself. Looking for a transfer I suspect."

"What would you say to paying him a visit tonight?" suggested their leader.

Charlie nodded and began to speak, forming a plan, "Yeah, but if it wasn't stink face that had him killed, it's my guess that he wouldn't know who did it and would be worried that he was next."

"Great thinking sweetheart," Vinnie replied enthusiastically, "We'll tell him we did it, the only way he'd know different was if he did it himself and then he'd have to confess."

"Nothin' like a good ol' bluff, if you ask me. It makes our job easy." Modo agreed. "If he falls for it, he'll be so damn scared he'll be back to Plutark before you can say 'root beer'!"


	3. Job Interview

8:45pm, read Jesse's watch. Her belongings were laying a few blocks away in a cheap motel. As this was a business meeting she had opted for minimal weaponry; two sai, an ancient weapon much like an unsharpened dagger with two long, unsharpened projections attached to the handle, were strapped to her lower back, hidden beneath her clothes but accessible in an instant.

The journey to Chicago went without much trouble, besides one driver who had expected more than just gas money for his services who was now sporting a black eye and a fractured hand. Jesse booked herself a room the first motel she found and set to work breaking into Limburger Plaza.

She had arrived at the office tower several hours ago but had spent the better part of the last two hours positioned in the air conditioning vent above Lawrence Limburgers office. It was an elaborate room below her, royal blue carpets; wall to wall, opposite the large double-door entry sat an elegant yet empty desk; suggesting the inhabitant thought himself too important for actual work. Against one wall sat a huge monitor with a complicated set of controls; much like the device Jesse had found in Maredsous' office in New York, and along another were vast ceiling to floor windows looking down upon the Chicago skyline; a testament to the height for the tower she was in. The air of his office was thick with stench, even against the flow of air out of the air conditioning vent keeping most of the smell away; it had still taken almost an hour for Jesse to overcome the need to retch. Her search of the area around this office prior to taking up her current position had revealed nothing remotely resembling a trap, so she had safely assumed it was pure luck or possibly even fate that Limburger had contacted her to protect him from no one other than herself.

Limburger was a disturbingly large, round man; he wore a purple pinstriped suit that resembled something from a 1930's gangster movie. From Jesse's view of Limburger, she had taken him as a man that any normal person would not normally mess with, he has an air of arrogance around him when he barked orders through the speaker phone. However, this was not today; this man in the office below Jesse wore a distinct disheveled look and had obviously kept himself barricaded in the safety of his office for most of the day. He paced in the floor space restlessly, making a point to avoid the large window until he would momentarily forget and stare through it at the street as if he expected a murderer to arrive at any moment.

She watched him silently as time ticked on; counting down to the time she was to meet him. He continued his cycle of pacing and staring while continuously checking his watch. Her wrist watch struck nine; she was now just waiting for the right opportunity to introduce herself.

Limburger continued pacing. She couldn't drop into the room while he was pacing, she knew, with the nerves the man was showing right now, she'd be shot before she hit the ground.

Finally, at 9:05pm he was back at the window, staring at the Chicago skyline. Jesse steadily removed the vent.

"Typical," he sighed, sounding defeated. "One can never rely on these services from humans,"

Lowering herself slowly, Jesse landed silently on the office floor behind the man.

"Ah, Come on. Prejudice is not becoming." Jesse spoke.

Limburger spun around with surprising agility.

"Ahhh, better late than never I suppose." replied Limburger, struggling to hide the small heart attack he felt he'd just had. "Would it be too forward of me to suggest you knock next time?"

"Sorry Sir," she answered studiously, staring forward at nothing out the window. "I took up my post several hours ago, Sir, thought it was high time I introduced myself."

"Delightful!' Limburger exclaimed. He seemed calmed significantly by the power he felt from the obedience she projected. "So, tell me, what can I expect from your services?" He began to walk around Jesse, appraising his newest employee.

"12 hours a day, Sir, any hours, you choose. Personal protection only, I will not be sent on errands. I advise you choose a cover for me so as not to draw attention to my presence. I can be your sister, daughter, friend, cousin or your Aunt Bessie for all I care. I will not, however be a girlfriend, wife or partner in any way, for that you need an escort Sir, not a body guard." She spoke quickly and clearly, as she informed Limburger of the finer aspects of her roll. "I require payment upfront, seeing as this it going to be an indefinite arrangement; I require one months fee before we continue, followed by fortnightly pre-payments. My full services cost, in your situation, $700 a day."

"Certainly," Limburger replied, still assessing Jesse as he rounded his desk, removing his eyes only to lift cliché painting from the wall behind his seat, revealing a safe, which he quickly opened, removed a large sum of cash and asked, "Is cash OK?"

"Ideal, Sir." She replied with the efficiency and intent of a marine.

"Excellent." He replied after closing the safe and replacing the painting. He thumbed notes from a large wad, counting silently. "From 6am tomorrow morning you will be my new personal assistant." It seemed Limburger needed no encouragement to bark direct orders at his new member of staff; in fact he seemed to take to it like a duck to water. He strode back around his desk to where Jesse stood stock still at attention and handed her the first month's payment.

As Jesse pocketed the cash her attention turned to a roar of engines that grew closer at an astounding rate, almost as if the office they were in was sinking closer to the street. Jesse looked to Limburger to see if the new noises meant anything to him. His face was filled with furious dread as he began to quickly back away from the large window. Annoyed that she would have to fight to save the life of this foul man so soon into their professional relationship, she placed herself in front of him, drew her sai and stood ready to strike.

Not a moment later, three motorbikes carrying their riders smashed in through the window; _so this is why Limburger had avoided this window_, Jesse thought. The intruders came to a screeching halt in the center of the office, glass littered the floor.

"Why do I even bother having an office door?" Limburger lamented. "But now-now, no time for complaining, you are just the repulsive rodents that I wanted to see." He spoke with a reinstated confidence now he had a servant between him and his enemy. "I would like to introduce you to my personal bodyguard; Vixen, or the Fox as she is more commonly known. You may have heard of her, she was responsible for the downfall of the Pit Boss. She may look small, but we all know what happened to him." He bragged.

That answered one important question that was raised when she received Limburgers call earlier that day; how did he get her number? Is it not as if she had a 'Yellow Pages' ad, word of mouth was all she needed in order to keep her business flowing; but whose words had they been? She had been protecting a New York lawyer when she had encountered the Pit Boss that Limburger was referring to. He had made an attempt to personally kidnap her mark and paid dearly for doing so. Though, unlike Maredsous he had escaped with his life, although he still bears the scares of their encounter and his under-ground empire remains in ruins. The lawyer must have passed on her number.

The three bikers opened their visors and took in the small, slender and attractively shaped woman that stood before them.

"Fox?" Jesse heard the red bikes rider whisper to the other two, "he ain't kidding," They laughed coolly and the largest one, bearing a bionic arm and a patch over his left eye, spoke,

"Body guard?" he laughed, and spoke to Limburger "Yeah, right, and my grey furred momma single handedly fought and recaptured the Valles Marineris," The other two shared his disbelief.

Slightly deflated, Limburger hadn't counted on no one believing that he was now in possession of the holy grail of personal protection, he forced a calm voice, "If I am not mistaken Valles Marineris is still under Plutarkian control. In fact I am sure as of only last week I heard word of a vast iron ore deposit discovered there and I would bet every Gold Fin I have that it is an even bigger hole now." The large bikers' eye glowed red with anger as Limburger laughed with evil mirth. He stopped abruptly and spoke a cold, clear threat, "Try anything and you will learn the combative equivalent of the old phrase; do not judge a book by its cover."

Jesse remained silent and on guard while she began to despise the evil of the man standing behind her. He took immense pleasure in taunting the three bikers, who had obviously suffered a heart-breaking loss. Yet the term 'Valles Marineris' was completely alien to her. She made a mental note to ask her father next time they spoke.

"No one's here to try anything, you moldy bait breath," replied the rider on the black bike coldly. He wore black framed glasses with acid green lenses, and hadn't taken kindly to the threat. "We are here to see if we missed anything while we were away. We figured we'd go straight to the source of all our trouble"

"Away?" Limburger pressed.

"Yeah, we've been in New York for a couple of days." Lied the red bike's rider; his face half obscured by a metallic mask.

"Lovely this time of year." added the largest of the men with the bionic arm.

The mention of her home city made Jesse's heart skip a beat. Her mind launched into double time trying to find an explanation for what couldn't possible be another coincidence. One of the many things she had learnt for sure in her career is that one coincidence was acceptable, but two meant a trap.

"New York City?" Limburger asked skeptically, struggling to hold on to his confidant demeanor and shifting, quite unsuccessfully, to hide himself behind Jesse.

"None other," replied one of her bikers.

"Met a friend of yours while we were there too," continued another.

Understanding filled Jesse and calmed her heart as she realised what was happening. She had inherited few things from her father's genetics, but his sharp, fast intellect was one of them. But knowing that the only information of the death of Milton Maredsous available to the public had been in the day's newspaper and Limburger already knew more than was published, she could only see that the riders plan would go terribly wrong. As it seemed that she and the three mysterious riders shared a common enemy, she had to find a way to help them. Jesse also couldn't see the harm in letting someone else take responsibility for the unfortunate end of the previous night's battle.

"This friend of yours," The bespectacled rider of the black motorcycle tutted, "definitely not someone I would like to be caught hanging around with."

"He was dying to hear about you, though," taunted one of the others.

Jesse had to act soon, as it was becoming clear that they had no real fact of what had occurred, if they had they certainly wouldn't be wasting their time and would take full advantage of the gruesome description of a beheading. She focused her mind, absorbing the energy from the room around her; the four others were unaware of any change. She focused on the image of the instant Mardsous had died and tried to fill the bespectacled biker's body with the energy of her thought, placing that image deeply in his mind.

This subtle yet powerful manipulation of universal energies was a discipline Jesse had learnt from her Aunt Venus. Her introduction to qi, the energy that lies within everything, had begun before she was even born, with Venus meditating and connecting with her mothers bulging, pregnant belly. This early introduction had triggered the parts of the baby's mind that would normally be only sub-consciously aware of the surrounding energy, to develop well beyond the norm. So that now, the awareness and ability to manipulate qi, skills that would usually take a life time of study and focus to master, was almost second nature for Jesse. Regular meditation and determined focus was required to maintain a strong connection.

Jesse noticed the slightest twitch in Throttle's face as the image filled his mind. Unsure what to make of it, he glanced ever so slightly at Jesse who gave him the tiniest of winks to confirm his suspicions.

"He lost his head with laughter when we told him of your shenanigans." Throttle spoke. Jesse couldn't have thought of a better way to phrase the allusion better herself, she was pleased.

Limburger however was not, his body convulsed with the shock of what he had just heard as attempted to both gasped and inhale at the same time, resulting in a raspy, inward wheeze. In the many months that these pesky Martians had irritated him, foiling his plans time and time again, he had always scraped by with nothing more than a bruised ego and was beginning to accept the routine. Maredsous, however, in just one encounter had not been so lucky. If they had killed him, certainly, he was next. But he did have Vixen, or so he thought.

"So," The masked rider pressed, "did we miss anything?"

"No!" Limburger shrieked, "Nothing! Been ill, haven't done a thing." He pushed Jesse in the small of the back, encouraging her to attack. Jesse didn't budge.

"That's not in my contract, Sir." She reminded him.

"What? Not in your contract?" Limburger bellowed, inciting a raw of laughter from the three bikers.

"Personal protection only," she recited, "they haven't come here to hurt you tonight"

Now furious, Limburger whispered loudly through gritted teeth into Jesse ear, "They killed Maredsous! They have come here to finish me off! What the bloody hell makes you think they have come here for nothing?"

Jesse intentionally ignored Limburgers wish to keep their conversation quiet, she answered loudly and clearly, "There is a reason why I am the best, Sir. You will need to trust me."

The bikers had stopped laughing and remained quiet, watching the rage boil over on Limburgers face, some what amused.

"You're with them!" Limburger shouted the accusation, sounding both shocked and furious.

In reply to the accusation, Jesse stepped to the side, no longer guarding Limburger. Suddenly he felt naked and vulnerable. She addressed him as if they were the only ones in the room, "I cannot protect you if you do not trust me." Even limburger noticed that there was no 'Sir' ending her sentence, she was no longer his as long as he accused her.

"You are right." Limburger was desperate to have her back between him and the biker mice, even if it meant an apology. "I'm sorry. I trust you."

Jesse resumed her former position in front of Limburger, poised ready to strike at the slightest threat. Even the bikers had to admit there was something impressively threatening about her demeanor.

"Very well," Limburger continued now addressing the three intruders, "was there anything else I can help you with today?"

"Remembered we are here, did you?" spoke the largest of the men, happy to be back in the conversation.

"There is nothing more from us tonight, Cheese Breath. It seems you have some staffing issues to work out anyway." The masked rider answered.

"Just remember, if we catch you stealing anything from earth again," the leader paused to let the conditions of his threat sink in, "heads will roll." Limburger repeated the same inward wheeze, satisfied the rider continued, "So until then, Bros, let's rock..."

As terrified as limburger was, he cringed with added dread at these words and covered his ears as the other two riders, with engines revving, chimed in,

"...and ride!"

The three bikes spun around, churning up the office carpet, and accelerated straight out the window they'd come in through. Jesse broke her position and ran to the window to see where they were headed. The three motorcycles were like nothing she had ever seen before. Not only were they incredibly powerful, but as she watched, they were riding vertically down the side of the building. She thought momentarily about how much Raphael would love to see this. She continued to watch until they were out of sight, several blocks away. Jesse took note of the direction they were headed as she intended on tracking them down.

Once the riders were out of sight and the roar of their engines was barely audible, Jesse turned back to Limburger who hadn't moved an inch, apparently still frozen with fear.

"Who were they?" she demanded.

"Them? They were," he paused, deciding how much she needed to know, "just some meddlesome street rats, getting too big for their bikes,"

Jesse might have thought it impossible, but she has just begun to hate Limburger even more. The way he spat the word 'rats' in such a derogatory way filled her with rage. Her late master, Splinter, had undergone a similar genetic mutation to her father and uncles, except where they had originally been turtles, he had been a rat. He took the four young mutant turtles in as sons of his own and trained them in the art of ninja and the way of the warrior; disciplines he had learnt from observing his owner, Hamato Yoshi. When Jesse was born he became a loving grandfather, passing on his wisdoms to the attentive child. Sadly, due to failing health, the old rat died peacefully when Jesse was only seven years old, she missed him terribly every day.

"Right then," she said unusually cheerfully as she swallowed her hate, "6am tomorrow then?" She patted Limburger once on his shoulder and strode out through the large doors, leaving Limburger to deal with the mess of his office.


	4. A Cheesy Phone Call

The following few weeks dragged by without any combat. Jesse was spending 12 hours a day standing rigid behind Limburgers shoulder as he strutted, stank, barked orders and ate, on several occasions he did it all at the same time. Though she still had very little idea of the operation he was running, she knew it wasn't something she would endorse.

She had been introduced to the rest of Limburgers regular thugs including Grease Pit, an enormous and greasy man, who had obviously ordered a 'double serve of brawn but hold the brains'. The bumbling fool stuttered and stammered in Jesse presence and had taken to, in recent days, bringing her flowers as he arrived at the office: flowers, Jesse had noticed that were missing from the gardened entrance of Limburger Plaza.

She had also met, and instantly despised, Limburgers resident scientist, Dr Karbunkle. He reminded her of a more evil Dr Baxter Stockman, a scientist that she and her family had had many run-ins with. Karbunkle, however, possessed an evil that rattled Jesse to the core. He was the kind of evil genius that would, if he ever discovered their genetic secrets, have her entire family live out their lives in glass tanks if, that is, he hadn't dissected them first. She did her best to keep clear of Dr Karbunkle.

Fred the Mutant was more of a sadistic pet than a thug, but Jesse had taken quite a liking to him. He was a disturbing looking creature with three eyes and a mismatched assortment of limbs including a dog's tail and an octopus' tentacle for an arm. He had become the subject of many of the evil doctor's experiments and had come to thoroughly enjoy the pain they brought. Jesse's uncanny knack for causing pain with both physical force and a type of acupuncture had been the beginning of an odd friendship of sorts. She enjoyed the short times she was able to spend with such a bizarre creature.

At least once a week she observed Limburgers goons tussle with the same three riders that she had met on her first night in Chicago. She had come to admire the way they fought, their wild tactics, their loud heavy metal music and their impeccable team work; they displayed a strong bond between them like Jesse's father and uncles had been trying to develop all their lives. In every altercation the three riders were victorious, and left peacefully when the danger to the Chicago citizens had passed, this had always been the way Jesse family had fought. They never set out to kill; they only ever protected the city of New York from immediate threats.

Jesses nights had been spent traveling the city trying to track down the bikers; trying to follow where she had seen them ride off to after their battle had been fought. On several occasions she managed to track them as far as the cities baseball stadium, but the trail had always gone cold from there.

In the small hours of the morning Jesse would return to her motel room, where she would send an encrypted e-mail to her family updating them on her position. She would then meditate before showering and crawling into bed for what was only ever a few hours sleep. Her routine was a grueling one, but years of training had prepared her for far worse.

She was slowly piecing together what Limburger was up to. So far she had come to understand that Limburger wasn't human, though she had figured as much from his stench, and from what she had seen of Maredsous on her last night in New York. As a body guard, opportunities to probe into her marks secrets were few and far between. She was often ordered out of the room during phone calls and meetings, and she certainly couldn't ask question. Jesse had learnt what she knew from observation, eves-dropping and paperwork left lying about.

It seemed to her that Limburger was after natural resources and wasn't particularly fussed what type, though he did show a slight preference to water, steel and oil. Since Jesse had taking up her post she had begun to hear more and more about the war in the Middle East. It wasn't uncommon in the current climate to hear the that America's War on Terror was finally coming to a close, as the possibility of peace talks ensued and massive steps forward were being made and reported in the Newspapers every week, but at Limburger Plaza, or Limburgers office at least, this had become the only topic worth discussing. It seemed that peace in the Middle East was the last thing the Limburger wanted and his reasons all seemed to revolve around his oil supply.

It wasn't until the middle of Jesse's seventh week of service, towards the end of her day's shift that a bizarre video call came through to Limburgers office that allowed all the pieces to fall into place and at the same time raise even larger concerns.

Limburger was sitting in his office in his throne-like chair, almost crying as he read the evenings newspaper. Several pages in, there was a small article about law and order having been successfully introduced to the Middle Eastern country. This seemingly small and unimportant shard of information ripped through Lawrence Limburger as if he had just read his own obituary.

It was as Limburger began to bang his head on the desk in frustration that a face appeared on the large screen. To Jesse it was like seeing a ghost and for a brief moment she thought Maredsous hadn't died and had finally tracked her down. Then she began to notice differences, thought it was a similar blue and green fish-like face, the one on the screen was far larger and much uglier, if it were possible. This new face also had a distinct smug look about it.

"Limburger!" The voice yelled ominously. Limburger froze as his head hit the desk once more, slowly and fearfully he began to look up. "What, in the name of Plutark are you doing?"

Limburger stuttered.

"Killing a bug, Lord." He lied, Jesse couldn't help but smile at the lie Limburger had offered.

"With your head?" The face questioned with derogatory tone.

"It's the only way. You obviously haven't come across one of these earth bugs." Limburger flushed.

"That, Lawrence, is the worst lie any fool has tried to tell me!" the caller screeched. His eyes fell on Jesse, "Who is this?"

Limburger paused, thinking of a lie, but the face interrupted.

"And don't try to lie to me, Lawrence; you are pathetically bad at it."

Anyone could tell that Lawrence was being berated by his boss; this, however, didn't mean that Jesse felt sorry for him in anyway.

"She's my, ah," Limburger was still too proud to admit he was scared enough to hire protection, "bohdigad," He seemed to think mumbling the answer would make the question go away. He was wrong.

"Your WHAT?" The fish-like head screamed impatiently.

"Bodyguard," Limburger winced in reply.

The face roared with laughter, "This, this scrawny house wife of a human is a bodyguard?" Jesse didn't flinch at his words; she was enjoying watching the humiliation Limburger far too much. "I think you have been ripped off, Lawrence. Just wait until the board hears about this!"

Limburger didn't argue, but chose to remain silent in cowardly agreement and the face on the screen continued to laugh joyfully; tears began to run down his face.

After several minutes of dire humiliation Limburger was keen to change the subject, though he dreaded doing so.

"May I ask the purpose of your call, Lord High Chairman Camembert?" He asked hesitantly.

"Yes, yes," Camembert spoke, dabbing his eyes with his hanky, "I haven't laughed like that in years Lawrence, thank you. Before we get down to business, however, we need to observe tradition. The Plurtarkian Greeting, Lawrence." He demanded.

"Sir, surely, after such a joyous moment, these things can be..." Limburger searched for the right word.

"Lawrence Limburger!" Camembert yelled in warning.

Limburger stood abruptly and rounded his desk to the monitor,

"Certainly, my Lord," was his defeated reply.

Jesse watched on, amazed by the strange behavior that followed. The face in the screen backed away, revealing a large rounded body, elaborately robed. Camembert turned and placed his behind to the monitor, Limburger did the same, and, while rubbing their backsides together, they began to sing,

"_Cheek to cheek, stink to stink. As Plutark rules, the galaxy shrinks"_

The strange greeting was finished off by a chorus gruesome armpit noises.

Jesse found the whole affair thoroughly amusing, but was forced to stifle her smile as Limburger glared at her upon his return to his desk. She returned to her statue-like position.

"Oil, Lawrence." Once more just a face on the screen, Camembert answered the earlier question, "More precisely; your delivery of oil that never arrived! You had better have a good excuse"

"The war has ended, my great poignant one, I cannot continue stealing the oil unnoticed." Limburger bumbled, "I have tried but my men were captured in the process. The oil supplies now have military protection. There is no way I can continue to deliver such vast quantities."

Jesse finally understood. Limburger was an alien, a Plutarkian. He was strip-mining Earth of its natural resources and shipping them back for use on Plutark. Limburger was using the war in the Middle East as a distraction while he stole all the oil he could acquire. However, now that peace was returning to the Middle East, he no longer had unlimited access to a lawless oil supply.

"You are a failure, Lawrence Limburger, a dismal failure with a human child for a body guard. 'There's no way...', 'I cannot...'" His imitation of Limburger was strikingly accurate. "You are weak, Lawrence, and a pathetic excuse for a Plutarkian." Camembert snarled, "You will get me that oil Limburger, or I will send my mother there to get it for you!" This was obviously a significant threat, judging by Limburgers sudden lack of colour. "You won't want that now, will you?"

"What do you suggest I do, Lord?" he pleaded

"That is not my job. My job is to make sure you do yours and that Plutark thrives. My job is to watch you, Lawrence Limburger, and that, I will be doing very closely from now on." A vein was throbbing in Camembert's temple.

"I understand," Limburger accepted, but continued under his breath. "My omniscient, over-inflated one."

"I heard that!"

"Of course you did," he gritted, "Is that all for tonight?" Limburger was desperate to be done with the conversation.

"For tonight," Camembert replied. "I expect your delivery to arrive within the month, I will be checking in. Good bye."

And as quickly as Camembert's face had appeared on the screen, it vanished; leaving Jesse and Limburger alone in the silent office. Limburgers face was stone; his jaw had dropped so far it looked disconnected. It was a long, awkward while before Limburger processed the video call, and once he came to, he had obviously though it best to act as if nothing had happened at all. Jesse continued in her silent position; counting down the minutes until her shift was over.


	5. Dropping In

**AN: The song in this chapter is Wild Child, by The Doors, I don't own it, but it is Jesse's namesake, so I have borrowed it. Though I think I gave them plenty of credit in the text. Ta.**

Once again, Jesse found herself in a familiar position, similar to that of seven weeks ago, the night she arrived in Chicago, except this time she was completely unarmed as she perched unnoticed in the rafters of the Quigley Field scoreboard.

As her shift guarding Limburger had finally came to an end an hour or so after Camembert's illuminating video call, she set out with a new resolve to track down the three riders. With no new information on their whereabouts; the only way she had to find them was to stake out the one place that she had lost their trail no less than three times, Quigley Field.

Perched on the rooftop of a nearby office block and dressed head to toe in black cloth; she was invisible against the night sky behind her. Looking, at last, like a true ninja; she watched and listened to the drone of engines humming along West Addison Street, none sounded remotely like the furious roar of the motorbikes she was waiting for.

Still and focused, like a human gargoyle, she had waited until the small hours of the morning when finally, in the distance, but growing steadily closer, the familiar rumbling sound found her ears. Moments later three bikes came into view, flying down the street at an amazing speed; these riders were indeed skilled. Jesse watched, completely focused and ready to take flight across the building tops to follow them as far as she could. She was surprised, however, when they turned into the baseball stadium on the opposite side of the street. She laughed at her self for never considering that as an option.

In only a short time Jesse had tracked them down, not that it was hard once the heavy metal music started, she found them in the scoreboard where they seemed to have made a comfortable home. She found a way in at the highest point, perched herself unseen in the rafters and quietly watched them.

The three riders were listening to a local radio station and playing basketball, of all the sports to play at a baseball field, but there seemed to be no real rules, only the simple aim of getting the ball into a highly placed hoop.

What struck Jesse most, however, was something that she had never noticed before. Now that the riders no longer wore their helmets, she could see that they were not human either, their appearance reminded her of Splinter, but more mouse-like; they even had tails. The smallest of the three, the one that wore a metallic mask covering half his face, had white fur all over his body. The largest, bearing the bionic arm, was grey and the bespectacled one was tan.

Jesse watched, unnoticed, for half an hour, the closeness of the three reminded her how much she missed home, but she had dwelled for long enough. She would have to reveal herself soon, or risk being caught, which would defeat the purpose of this visit.

As the white mouse scored an impressive shot that involved a leap off the grey mouse's shoulders and several flips, Jesse, accepting that there was no time like the present, decided that the time had come. She paused momentarily, took a deep breath and centered herself before climbing down to the lowest rafter and jumped.

Lightly and elegantly she landed, just meters away from mice, but she didn't look up. As soon as she had hit the ground she dropped to her knees, lowered her head and threw her arms out to the sides in a position of complete surrender. It was a good thing too as she heard the immediate drawing of weapons that were definitely pointed at her.

She knelt there, frozen, waiting to be addressed.

"What the...?" Asked the grey mouse,

"Hey! She is Limburger's girl-goon, the Fox" The white mouse stated. Jesse remained silent.

"Who are you and what do you want?" The tan mouse asked sternly and directly, weapon pointed squarely at the intruder.

Softly but clearly Jesse replied, "To you, right now I am Wild Child, hopefully one day I will be more. I have come to introduce myself with view of forming an alliance."

"Wild Child? What kind of a name is that?" The white mouse taunted.

"It's just a name. Its all you need to know me by right now."

"You work for Limburger. Why shouldn't we just kill you now?" The leader pressed.

"True, and if you see fit, kill me now, but I only work for Limburger as I was posted there by a team of my own. If it was up to me, I would have been fighting with you since that night in his office."

"Why should we trust you?" The white furred mouse asked. By this stage the Mice had moved closer where Jesse knelt, head down, arms splayed.

"You shouldn't. It would be stupid of you to trust me right now. All I ask is for you to listen, let me explain to you who I am, then let me leave."

"OK, but we will search you for weapons and restrain you while we listen." The leader accepted.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

Throttle motioned for Vinnie to pat her down, while Modo collected some rope hanging on a wall nearby.

"Stand." The leader demanded

With her head still hanging submissively and her arms held out straight, she slowly raised her self to her feet. She watched the boots of one of the mice walk around behind her. She then felt his hands firmly run the length of her arms, across her chest, back and continuing to her feet in a methodical search for any trace of a concealed weapon. Once satisfied, he gestured for the rope that his comrade had collected. He firmly tied one wrist before placing it behind her back, and meticulously tied it to her other wrist.

Then, controlling her firmly by her neck in one hand and her bound hands in the other, the white mouse pushed her towards what resembled a kitchen, where she was forced into one of the four chairs around a circular dining table. Once she was seated the white mouse walked around to take a seat himself, glancing back at the intruder as he did. At that same moment, Jesse shifted her gaze upward, catching his eye, and gave a cheeky wry smile and winked at him to acknowledge the awkwardness of the close few moments they had just shared. He stifled a laugh that came out as snort.

Jesse dropped her gaze once more, and focused on an arbitrary spot in the centre of the table.

"Root beer?" One of the mice asked. This was the last question she expected to be asked at that point, but she was delighted.

"Please." She answered, and a large grey hand place the soda can on the table in front of her. Typical boys, she thought, she was tied up, how did she expect to drink it, but she didn't say anything.

"So," continued the leader, "You were saying?"

"My name is Wild Child. I am from New York. It was there my family fought Milton Maredsous." She looked up slightly at the tan mouse, "Thanks for taking responsibility on that one, by the way."

"You killed Maredsous?" The white mouse interjected.

"Of course you did, that's how you knew what had happened and was able to tell me that night." The tan one continued, "How did you do that? Your human, you shouldn't be able to communicate like that."

"I am not completely human, but that's got little to do with anything." She explained, looking again at the table. "I am a master of many martial disciplines, from ninja, karate, kung-fu and the manipulation of universal energies. What I did that night was incredibly rude. I usually hold a great respect for the privacy of ones mind, but it was the only way I could help. I do apologise."

"What you did helped. You don't need to apologise." He continued, "Go on,"

Jesse told them about the recon mission she had been sent on and how it meant she had to be Limburgers body guard.

"So have you found out anything useful?" The grey mouse asked.

"A bit, but I think you three still know more than I could imagine." She answered.

"OK" The tan mouse spoke accepting that as the end of that subject, but he was still after more information on Jesse herself. "You said you're not completely human, what do you mean?"

"My father is a mutant, genetically he is somewhere in-between a human and a turtle, my mother was human."

"'Was?" He asked, tentatively

"She was killed, the night I was born," Jesse felt at this point that the more information she could give them would mean the more likely they would be to trust her. "She was 20 when she met my father. She was a street fighter, a good one. She traveled the States competing in the underground street-fighting tournaments. With her expertise in Kung-fu, she did extremely well. She had come to New York to compete when, on the night of the semi finals, her opponents had decided she had beaten too many of them.

"They followed her on her way back to her hotel and jumped her in an alley. If my father and his brothers hadn't been following them, she would have died. Dad and my uncles managed to stop them before they killed her and brought her back to their home to nurse back to health.

"Though her broken bones, cuts and bruises soon healed, she never regained her sight. My father spent most of his time nursing her and, in time and as young adults do, they fell in love.

"She had lived with them in the Lair for nearly a year when she fell pregnant. It was a shock to every one as her and Dad's DNA shouldn't be compatible. To this day, the question of my conception had plagued my father; he considers himself a turtle of science, but even he cannot find an explanation.

"My mother slowly regained much of her independence, and was able to travel the streets alone, but while out, late in her pregnancy, she was recognised by several of the fighters that originally attacked her and they set out to finish their work. By the time she was found she was in labour and bleeding out.

"She died moments after I was born."

The mice sat in respectful silence. When nothing was said, Jesse continued,

"I was raised by my Dad, my uncles, my Aunt and my grandfather in the sewers of New York, and trained as a warrior in every discipline they knew. I was to share their charge as protectors of the city, until, many months ago, when we encountered a new enemy; Maredsous. In weeks following it became clear that, where my Father and uncles were protectors of the city, I am to be the protector of Earth."

"You don't look part mutant." The white mouse stated.

Jesse wondered if he had been listening to anything else she had said but answered the valid question none the less. "I know. That is all part of what we don't understand. Generally, characteristics are inherited on a rough 50:50 basis. But I have very few traits of my fathers. In fact the only visual trait if have that links me to my dad, only a professional would notice."

"Which is...?" The tan mouse pressed.

"My teeth." She answered, "I have tooth pattern closer to that of a herbivore and don't have canines."

"OK," he replied, somewhat unbelieving, "I take it that isn't all."

"No, it's not. I am..." She pauses, contemplating, not only the risk she was taking, but how to phrase what she was about to tell them. "OK," she started over, "as a show of good faith, I will tell you, but keep it close. This is my kryptonite, and in the wrong hands it could be the end of me."

She raised her gaze and made eye contact with each of the three biker mice begging for their confidence, and as the white mouse was the last to give a silent nod, she returned her stare to the centre of the table and continued,

"I am cold blooded, exothermic. I cannot maintain my own body temperature. My metabolism is, again, somewhere between that of a human and a turtle."

"How is that so dangerous to you?" The bespectacled one asked, as the others sat quietly on the very edge of understanding.

This was one question that Jesse really wasn't comfortable answering. Again she raised her gaze, and met the eyes of the tan mouse that asked the question. Forcing herself to trust him with her life's secret, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply,

"Without adequate warmth I can, in theory, freeze to death without the warning of first feeling cold. If I get too cool my body slows down, I get lethargic and my reaction time drops of the scale." This was one of the first times in Jesse's life that she felt vulnerable, but in order to redeem her credibility as a warrior she continued, "It has never caused any major problems, and if I am cooling I can warm myself up temporarily with a shot of adrenaline. It does have it advantages too, I can, for example, get past heat sensor cameras unnoticed.

"I didn't have to tell you that. I hope you appreciate what it means that I have told you."

"You can trust us." the leader spoke gently. Satisfied with that aspect of her story, he continued,

"What do you know about us?"

"Very little," Jesse answered, still staring downward. "I know we share a common enemy; Plutark. I know you are amazing fighters. I also learnt tonight that you are also not human. My first guess would have been mutants, but with what I now know of Limburger, I would say you are aliens, also."

"We are Martians" The bespectacled one replied, "My name is Throttle. This," He motioned to his left at the white mouse, "is Vinnie and this is Modo."

The grey furred mouse, to whom Throttle had just referred, spoke,

"It's a pleasure to meet you ma'am."

"I am so glad to finally meet all of you. I have been trying fruitlessly to track you down for months. You are well hidden here, I assure you." Jesses eyes still hadn't moved from the table as she tried to remain as unthreatening as possible. "Can I ask why you are fighting here on Earth?"

"You can. I take it you know what Plutark is doing here, stealing natural resources." Jesse nodded and Throttle continued, "Well they did the same to Mars, they destroyed her and there are few of our kind left. The three of us managed to crash here, where we discovered that Limburger had started the same on Earth. We've been fighting ever since."

"I am so sorry." Jesse said, feeling their pain. For a few brief moments no one spoke.

"So, Wild Child," Throttle eventually broke the silence, "now that we are all best friends, where do we go to from here?"

"No where," she replied, "We just carry on as we have been, but now you know you have some one on the inside. I will continue doing my best to sabotage Limburgers plans from the inside.

"There will come a time, hopefully in the not-too-distant future when we will fight side by side as one. Until that day however, I feel I am more valuable to you undercover and close to Limburger."

"When do you think you will join us?" Modo asked.

"When you need me here more that I am needed there... or I get fed up with the stench and throw it in completely."

"So, we'll see you here tomorrow then?" Vinnie joked

Jesse laughed quietly, and replied,

"Just about,"

"Is there anything else?" Throttle asked.

"Not really. Only that, when I will need you to trust me, I will have earned it by then. I will prove myself before we fight together. But until then, Limburger must not know we have met. We don't know each other."

"That's easy enough," added Vinnie.

"Well then," Jesse said as she stood up. She had removed herself from her shackles early into the conversation but had though it best not to mention it. "I have a long and boring day tomorrow." she picked up the can of root beer, and opened it, "and I had better get some rest." She downed the soda in longs guzzle before returning the empty can to the table and letting out a tremendous belch. "So I will be off. Thank you kindly for your hospitality and I look forward to fighting beside you." She turned and walked to where she had landed earlier.

Perplexed at the sudden change in Jesse's demeanor, as in only seconds she went from a frustratingly submissive servant to a confidant and likable character, the three biker mice remained seated, staring as Jesse climbed from rafter to rafter with the ease of a gymnast on the uneven bars, and finally climbed out through one of the scoreboards number displays and into the night.

It was a few moments before any of them spoke; finally Throttle broke the silence,

"So, what do you think bro's?"

"I think I just had a religious experience." Vinnie answered, dazed.

"Yeah, something like that bro, she is awesome." Modo added

"You reckon she was being straight with us?" Throttle asked skeptically.

"Yeah, I reckon. That would have been a huge risk just to come and spin some story. How was she to know we weren't going to shoot her before she got a chance to speak?" Vinnie answered.

Throttle nodded vaguely, turning over all the possibilities in his mind,

"Yeah I guess so." He said, "She said she was going to prove herself anyway. I guess it's only going to be a matter of time."

On her way out of Quigley Field, she collected the few things of hers that she had left under a seat in the stadium, such as her black cotton ninja hood and her cell phone. As she walked out onto the street she dialed the number of the radio station she had noted the biker mice had been listening to and got straight through to the DJ.

"This is Sweet Georgie Brown at MBKR. What can I do you for?"

As the biker mice sat quietly contemplating their new ally, her voice carried over the radio that they still had playing,

"Hi, I would like to request a song. It's not your usual brand of music but I would like some new friends of mine that are avid listeners, to hear my favorite song."

"I am sure, this late at night I can oblige, what can I play for you little miss?" the DJ asked

"Wild Child by The Doors." Jesse answered.

"Oo, an oldie, and not even a goodie. Talk about your B-siders." He spoke in the usual over enthusiastic DJ drawl, "But I said I would. So here you go."

The three biker mice stared at the radio, unsure of what to make of what they were hearing, but the song soon started and quietly they listened as Jesse obviously wanted it heard.

A primitive yet addictive guitar rhythm, played by Robbie Kreiger, rung out through the scoreboard, and was soon joined by a simple but deliberate drumming of John Densmore, then a deep, masculine voice began to sing,

"_Wild child full of grace  
Savior of the human race  
your cool face."_

The biker mice nodded to the beat in understanding and agreement as they listened. Ray Manzarek played the keyboard as the crooning voice of Jim Morrison continued,

"_Natural child, terrible child,  
Not your mother's or your father's child.  
You're our child, screamin' wild."  
_

The truth in the words echoed through the three listeners as the vocals returned in a sinister whisper,

"_An ancient lunatic reigns in the trees of the night."  
_

Morrison laughed maniacally._  
_

Jesse had picked up her paces to a steady run back through the shadows to her motel as the song of her name sake ran out over the Chicago air waves. Jim Morrison continued,

"_With hunger at her heels,  
Freedom in her eyes,  
She dances on her knees,  
Pirate prince at her side  
Stirring into a hollow idol's eyes."_

Their large mouse ears still focused intently on every beat of the addictive rhythm, the vocalist returned with a tone just short of a scream,

"_Wild child full of grace  
Savior of the human race  
Your cool face,  
Your cool face,  
Your cool face."_

Then Jim Morrison finished with a strongly spoken question,

_"You remember when we were in Africa?"_

The music finished abruptly, and Sweet Georgie Brown whole heartedly apologised from the detour from heavy metal music. Throttle turned off the radio and spoke,

"I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship."

Laughing, the other two agreed.


	6. A Stinking Idea

With a renewed spring in her step and with less than two hours sleep under her belt, Jesse set out from her motel room at 5am for another day of standing rigidly behind the left shoulder of Lawrence Limburger.

Winter was making its presence known, and in recent days Jesse was feeling the effects of it cooling her blood. To combat this she has begun wearing her leather jacket that contained a battery powered heating system within. It was an invention of her fathers; but she had chosen the elegant and slick style of the well worn uniform. So, wearing jeans, white singlet and her jacket she headed out in the foot path to Limburger Plaza.

This morning was a stark contrast to how she had felt the morning before. Her position as Limburgers body guard no longer felt like a pointless and endless chore. She now had allies and was in a position to help at a moments notice. For the first time since the night she had killed Maredsous the feeling of purposelessness had finally lifted from her shoulders. An all new energy had filled her; head to toe, she felt new, fresh, revitalised and most of all; excited about facing the challenges a head of her.

As Jesse made her way onto Limburgers floor she found him, unusually, dressed and already in the office. Again he was pacing, but this time he was mumbling; every so often a word or two could be made out clearly, and they were most often 'war' or 'oil'. It seemed the threat of Camembert's call the night before had finally sunk in. He neglected to acknowledge Jesse entrance and she was happy with that. Disinclined to follow Limburgers erratic pacing she took up her position behind Limburgers chair. She stood tall, rigid and pretended she wasn't there.

By mid morning, Limburger had not only had two large meals, but had given up pacing, and sat slouched in his throne, mumbling far slower; dishearten by the lack of answers and thumbing nonchalantly through the days issue of the Chicago Tribune.

Limburgers' mornings' musings had, so far, only uncovered that the best way he could possibly meet his oil quota was to re-spark the war in the Middle East so he could carry on stealing his supply as had been doing for months. Of course he had to do this in a way that could not be linked back to him, but how he was going to do that was what had concerned him for the last few hours. Limburger felt, regrettably, that his political influence was not great enough to encourage the continuation of an international war such as this one. He also figured that if the American forces were having so much trouble tracking down the leader of the Middle East's offensive, he wouldn't have much luck either, so funding the 'other side' was out of the question also.

The day was dragging painfully slowly and Jesse found herself wishing the Biker Mice would ride in through the window at any moment.

In the early after noon a clumsy knock at the door broke the monotony.

"Come in Grease Pit." Limburger announced. The giant lump of a man appeared as he opened the door.

"Ah, how'd you know it was me, Limboiger?" He asked as he nervously fumbled to shut the door behind him; snapping the door knob off in the process. Limburger sighed with frustration,

"An educated guess." He lied, really it was the manner in which the doors hinges strained as Grease Pits monster fists hammered on the door, "I thought I told you that I didn't want to see your greasy gushing self in my office all week."

"Yes Sir. You did Sir, But I's was hoping to speak to Ms Vixen, if I could Mr. Limboiger Sir?" he stumbled on nearly ever word.

Oh no, not more poxy flowers, Jesse thought.

"...and..." Limburger pressed, "She is right here, get on with it, you bumbling buffoon."

"I's was hoping it could be in private, Limboiger Sir." Grease Pit had taken his hat of and was fiddling with it erratically.

"Surely I am well within my right to be included in the discussion on matters of security seeing as I am the both your employer and the subject of said security."

"I wasn't hoping on discussing no security, Sir" Limburgers interests peaked; now he simply had to know that was so important that this ignoramus had to say to his body guard.

"As your employer, I am sure anything you have to say to each other can be said in front of me." Unfortunately, this reasoning of Limburgers seemed to have convinced Grease Pit, and much to Jesse despair, he turned to her and began. Jesse could have sworn that she saw him steal a glance at him palm and if she thought he could read, she'd have figured he had scribbled what he had to say.

"Ms Vixen lady, we have been working together for many weeks now," he sounded awfully rehearsed, and Jesse tried not to laugh, "and I think you are real pretty lady. So I was hoping that you would like to..." Before he could finish he was cut of by a roar of laughter from Limburger,

"Oh, I am sorry, do go on," he apologied struggling to control himself. Grease Pit continued,

"...if you would like to join me for dinner one night," he checked his palm again and added, "please?" Unsure of what to do, Jesse looked to Limburger who was no hope at all as he was struggling not to laugh and looked thoroughly entertained. Jesse cleared her throat, stalling as she searched for the right words.

"I am flattered, Grease Pit, that you would think of me, but with the hours I work I simply don't have time..." She was cut of by Limburger, who was set on making this as awkward for both of them as possible,

"Nonsense, my dear, for such a wondrous event such as this I would be more than happy to give you the time off." He saw no easy way out for Jesse at this point, so, content that he had done what he could, he opened his newspaper and pretended to read so he could listen like a fly on the wall to how she was going to squirm her way out of the situation.

Always, when Jesse thought she couldn't possible hate him anymore, he manages to prove her wrong. Grease Pit, on the other hand, still fidgeting with his hat, was looking elated as Limburgers relieved him of what was sounding like a rejection. Again Jesse was searching for an exit strategy. She looked to limburger and through gritted teeth said,

"How thoughtful of you, Sir, but I couldn't possibly; it would be immoral of me." Limburger's fun wasn't over yet, he swiveled his chair around so only Jesse could see his broad smile and over the corner of his newspaper, he spoke to her,

"Don't be daft woman," There was a devilish glint in his eye, "I wasn't going to pay you." He returned to his paper.

"Generous," she sighed under her breath, so only he could hear her. She turned to Grease Pit, she felt so sorry for him in that moment. He looked so happy, he had worked up the courage to ask her out, he even had to do it in front of his malicious boss, who had in turn, given them the time off work. All this and he was about to be rejected, if Jesse could only find the words so as not to hurt him, but Limburger had taken away most of her options. "Grease Pit, I really am flattered..." She was again cut off by Limburger,

"I've got it!" he shouted. "Ha, it's perfect! Why have I not thought of this before?" Utterly perplexed at what Limburger was on about, Jesse abandoned her train of thought, quite gladly, as she turned to Limburger. He laid out the paper that he had been gazing over all day but had never actually read, and on the page he had it open to was a large head line,

"_Chicago to Host Middle East Peace Talks"_

Jesse has read this article over his shoulder earlier that morning and hoped he wouldn't actually notice it himself for this very reason.

"I will bomb the peace talks." He exclaimed proudly, "I'll arrange so both sides claim responsibility and the war will continue more vigorously then before! I really am an evil genius, I must say."

The rapid change of subject was a huge relief to Jesse. Grease Pit just looked confused,

"How's you gunna manage that boss? Makin' each side take the blame?" He asked

"How indeed my love struck lunatic." Limburger asked, before shouting into the speaker phone on his desk, "Karbunkle!"

Almost instantly the decrepit doctor rose into the office on a circular platform. Jesse knew his laboratory was below but had never noticed the trapdoor through which Karbunkle had risen. He spoke in a shrill effeminate voice,

"Yes, my cheddar Cheesiness?"

"I want a bomb, doctor. A great big, dirty, bomb; something with old-school and classic charm. I want what these Earth terrorist call a car bomb, but upsized. Do you think you can manage that?"

Karbunkle looked disturbingly pleased.

"Fertiliser bombs were somewhat of a hobby of mine in my younger days. When do you need it, my malicious master?" Everything that he had just said sent chills through Jesse's spine.

Limburger re-checked the article in front of him,

"10 days."

Jesse struggled with herself. She wanted more than anything to break her cover then and there and kick Limburgers ass back to Plutark, but with a clenched jaw and slow deep breaths she forced herself to remain quiet.

Jesse spent the rest of the day in her usual position and standing at attention but was focused intently on every aspect of the plans that were being developed for the assault on the peace talks. Jesse committed every shard of information to memory and was glad that Limburger trusted her enough to not request she leave the room during such discussions anymore.


	7. A Poignant Plan

Over the following few days, Limburger's plan was slowly, but surely, coming to fear-striking fruition. A fertiliser bomb, capable of leveling half a city block had, by courtesy of Karbunkle, been lovingly created and incorporated into a semi-trailer. The truck was to be controlled remotely, as Limburger was unable to find a goon willing to play the role of suicide bomber. A convincingly human looking dummy was, instead, placed in the trucks cabin so as not to draw attention to a driverless truck.

Much to Limburgers disgust, he was forced to hire a Catatonian shape-shifter in order to film the videos claiming responsibility for the attack that would be sent to each of the opposing authorities after the event.

From what Jesse had gathered from Limburgers fussing in the face of the Shape-Shifters impending arrival, there was a long running grudge between Plutarkians and Catatonians, and Limburger felt incredibly uncomfortable with the arrangement and requested Jesse be armed for the event. However, all went off without a hitch and Limburger relished in the temporary role of director; barking orders and strutting about in puffy pants, but always with Jesse close to his side.

The Catatonian was a slight, cat-like woman who, for the first film took the convincing form of the American President and spoke coldly down the lens of the camera, taking responsibility to the attacks and promising more. For the second of the films she took the form of a terrorist leader that the U.S authorities had failed to capture since the beginning of the war, the script was basically the same as the first film and again, as Jesse watched, was just as convincing.

Once all was filmed, the Catatonian woman was paid and left, but not before hissing threateningly at Limburger, who stifled a scream.

All week Jesse had been arriving early to Limburger Tower and leaving late, she utilised the time to sabotage Limburgers defenses in ways that could not be readily detected. In the silent darkness she would loosen nuts on vehicles, fiddle with fuses, tamper with weapons and she even introduced the flu to Limburgers goon squad. If all went well, the day of the assault nearly half of Limburgers defenses would be out of order and her offensive, alongside the Biker Mice, would be a walk in the park.

She had left it to the night before to inform her allies of limburgers intention, lest they blow her cover and Limburgers changes his plans. So, as she had on the night she introduced herself, she was once again sneaking into the scoreboard, but this time she was armed.

She carried a case of root beer, she figured the way to a mouse's heart as the same as a man's. And with considerably more difficultly than the first time, due either to weight and awkwardness of the root beer, or the lack of a proper work out since arriving in Chicago finally taking its toll, she entered the scoreboard.

No one was home.

Where on Earth, literally, could three giant mice hang out on a Sunday night? Jesse thought to herself. Never mind, she was trained to adapt. Nothing in urban warfare should ever be expected to go to plan, that's why she never made plans. She just reduced the probability of thing going badly, hence the hours she spent in stealth during this past week, sabotaging her enemy's defenses.

She placed the case of root beer in the centre of the table they had sat at ten days earlier, and after searching the place for a pen and paper, she left a note:

_Hey Dudes,_

_Dropped in to say hi, but it looks like I missed ya!_

_No bother, we'll catch up tomorrow._

_Word is some stink-fish is planning on bombing the peace talks._

_See you there._

_Yours faithfully,_

_WC_

She attached the note to the case of root beer and left. It was the best she could do short of searching all of Chicago until she found them, and with a fight looming, she wanted to prepare herself as much as possible, which meant a night of concentration, centering herself and meditation. Also, as a precaution, she was checking out of her motel.


	8. A Fearstriking Fruition

Over The air had a feel of excitement in it and Jesse stood in Limburgers office the next morning counting down the minutes until his attack on the peace talks would begin. Four of them were holed up in Limburgers office for the elite seat to the impending explosion. Limburger was pacing once again, Karbunkle was rubbing his boney hands in greedy anticipation, and Grease Pit was humming nonchalantly to himself and avoiding Jesses' eyes.

Jesse, however, was in a state of heighten concentration. She was a soldier right now; she had a mission, a purpose. She stood rigidly at attention, taking in every aspect of her surroundings. The device for controlling the truck was on Limburgers desk, he passed it every 6 seconds as he paced his 8 steps across the floor. Grease Pit was humming a Brittany Spears song, flat, and had left his large bazooka type weapon leaning against the wall five steps to the left and three steps in front of her. Karbunkle was wearing Brut. This, she thought, was most odd.

Jesse had concealed a number of weapons on her body in preparation for the day. In the leg of her jeans, strapped to her left ankle were a number of ninja stars, to her right; a dagger. Strapped flat to her back were the same sai that she carried on her first night in this office, against her flat belly, she concealed a pair of nunchaku. Her leather jacket covered these new lumps and bumps on her body, and as the frost was setting in outside, she had the jacket heating her body, raising her metabolism and boosting her energy and speed.

"It's time, my powerfully putrid one. Shall we begin?" Karbunkles shrill voice broke the silence and halted Limburgers pacing. Limburger gathered his thoughts for half a moment, then smiled widely,

"Yes. To the pointless squabbles of the human kind," he toasted and switched on the remote control device.

Somewhere in the outskirts of Chicago a semi-trailer, laden with explosives and driven by a mannequin, started up and drove out of an empty factory.

The monitor in Limburgers office lit up with several different screens, all showing differing views from the truck allowing them to skirt obstacle, though the device all but drove itself.

Jesse held her position, choosing to give the Biker Mice the benefit of the doubt that they would show up, she would act at the latest possible moment if they didn't.

The trucks destination was a convention hall several blocks over from Limburger Plaza, but essentially down the street opposite the main tower and several blocks down to the right of the t-junction. In the distance you could see the bright orange of the water-filled temporary jersey barriers that formed a road block, a security measure to clear the street of cars for the conference, however the truck that was now on its way to the road block on the adjacent street was designed to pass through this as if it were nothing at all.

_Perfect timing_, Jesse thought smiling wryly as she heard the familiar rumbling of motorcycle engines in the distance. But evidently she wasn't the only one. Limburger paused and looked out the large window to where he heard the noise,

"Those blasted Biker Mice. Take care of them would you, Grease Pit, I am much to busy."

"Take care of them Mr. Limboiger?" Grease Pit relied, perplexed, "Wouldn't it be better if I just shoots them with this bazooka?"

Limburger sighed in frustration and disbelief,

"You see, that is why I hired you. You always know just what to do in these situations," But his sarcasm was lost on Grease Pit. Karbunkle groaned and placed his head in his hand.

"Gee, thanks Mr. Limboiger" he replied, blushing. With renewed enthusiasm, the gigantic oaf of a man gathered the bazooka from the wall and took aim out of the window waiting for the three riders to come into view on the street. Jesse waited too as the roar of motorcycles grew closer.

Then, just this side of the road block, the three riders turned onto the street leading up to Limburger Tower, traveling at astounding speed. Grease Pit took aim and Jesse took the moment.

"Grease Pit." She said huskily, breaking her position and walking towards him, "I have been thinking about what you asked me the other day."

Limburgers jaw dropped. Karbuncles reaction was barely readable, but surprised none the less.

"Really?" Grease pit answered, dropping the weapon slightly, but at catching sight of Limburger he continued hastily, "Can we's talk about this later, I got to shoots these meises."

"What the devil do you think you are doing woman?" Limburger yelled, having finally found his voice.

"Normally I wouldn't be so forward," The Biker Mice were getting nearer, "but seeing you with that big gun, I just cannot contain myself,"

Grease Pit dropped the weapon further, unsure as to weather he heard right.

"Put a stop to this infernal flirtation and blast those Biker Mice to smithereens!" Limburger yelled, slamming his fist on his desk.

The Biker Mice where almost there. Jesse needed 100 of Grease Pits attention or they would be greeted by a bazooka. For the good of man kind, she thought to herself, and she leant up, placed her hands on the oily mans cheeks, and as every cell of her body squirmed with disgust, she kissed him.

The moment her lips met his, they where showered with glass as the Biker Mice rode their way through the window as they had done the first time Jesse had seen them, just in time to see the irrefutable proof they needed to see to trust completely that Jesse was working for them. Kissing Grease Pit, now that was commitment to the cause.

It seemed that every one in the room was just as stunned as Grease Pit, Limburger was speechless, and his jaw had dropped to his desk. Jesse had broken away, but the silence remained for half a moment until Vinnie broke it,

"Don't let us interrupt you, sweetheart." Jesse laughed softly and greeted each of them with a nod. She removed a sai from its sheath against her back and placed it to Grease Pits throat,

"Drop the bazooka, big guy." She ordered, and then spoke to the Biker Mice, "I was worried you weren't coming."

"What and miss out on all the fun?" Modo asked, "We'd have been here sooner but that was a lot of root beer." Vinnie gave a well timed belch. The three mice had their blasters aimed at each enemy.

"Vixen!" Limburger shrieked, quite uncharacteristically, considerably like he was on the first night Jesse had met him, "I demand to know what's going on."

Grease Pit had dropped his weapon and Modo had his arm cannon aimed at him so Jesse removed the tip of her sai from his throat and turned to Limburger,

"I am hereby tendering my resignation, effective immediately." Wiping grease from her sai, she walked across the room and stood between Throttle and Vinnie, "I quit, dude, that's what's going on."

"But Vixen," Limburger wasn't handling that naked feeling very well at all, "I will double your pay. Whatever it takes."

"My names not Vixen," she said with the hatred she had suppressed for the past two months, "Perhaps I should introduce myself properly, you may have heard of me. They call me Wild Child."

The colour drained from even Limburgers mask as the name rang some very loud alarm bells. He had heard Maredsous speak of a fighter named Wild Child, a ninja in New York that was making his life hell.

Jesse looked deep into Limburgers terrified eyes and spoke with a coldness that rattled him to the core,

"I killed Maredsous." Limburger, Karbunkle and Grease Pit gave a collective gasp. "Now, if you don't mind, we have a truck to stop."

Surprisingly fast for Limburger he slammed his hand down on the trucks control devise, "over my dead body"

"Be careful what you wish for Lawrence Limburger." Jesse leapt forward, planting an open palm into Limburger's chin, sending him backwards and a sweeping boot to his head knocked him out cold. The biker mice still had their blasters aimed. So neither Karbunkle nor Grease Pit came to Limburgers rescue.

Jesse collected up the control device and pressed the button that activated the brakes on the truck. 'Autopilot' was flashing on the monitor, and nothing happened. Jesse punched a random assortment of other buttons; still nothing. Perplexed at how to deactivate the autopilot, she threw the device to Throttle, who pressed the same button as Limburger had when he activated it.

In one smooth leap, Jesse jumped Limburgers desk and took off after Karbunkle. With a fist full of his lab coat she held him against the office wall with sternum crushing pressure, her sai now pointed directly at his jugular.

"How do you deactivate the autopilot?" she asked firmly. Karbunkle wheezed a sardonic cackle and answered,

"You can't, once it has been set it cannot be over ridden." Jesse head-butted the doctor and let him go, he dropped to the floor in an unconscious heap.

"It looks like we are going to have to do this the fun way." Throttle spoke smoothly, hiding his excitement, which was obviously a far too hard a task for Vinnie,

"Aw man! I LOVE the fun way!"

All four of them looked to Grease Pit, the only conscious enemy in the room. He was almost shaking. Modo dismounted his bike and strode over to the man and without any resistance, knocked him out cold with a single steel punch, Grease Pit seemed relieved to join his allies in unconsciousness.

"That was easy." Modo stated as he got back onto his bike.

"C'mon sweetheart, you can ride with me." Vinnie said, gesturing for her to get on behind him.

Jesse smiled broadly, she was in her element. After two whole months she was finally actively fighting again.

"Who said I was sweet?" she joked as sat behind Vinnie. Her concentration faltered momentarily as she wrapped her arms around the mouse's waist and her hands brushed past and felt his rippling muscles, she shook the thought from her mind and hoped he didn't notice.

"Alright Bros, you know how it's done," Throttle spoke, "Lets Rock..." the other two chimed in once more,

"And RIDE!" All three look to Jesse for what she had to say about it, she replied simply,

"Kick it!"

And with that all three motorcycles shot out the office window into the wintery street, the four riders cheering war cries as they headed off to stop a semi-trailer load of explosives from starting World War III.

It was an amazing feeling for Jesse, acceleration through the air on the back of a motorcycle. She was exhilarated by the power of the machine; the speed, the roar. With skilled precision, Vinnie landed the two of them safely in the Chicago street and made a seamless transition from almost flying to riding. _The skills of these riders_, Jesse wondered, awed.

Jesse held on as all three bikes tore down the Chicago street in a triangular formation. As they neared the road block, Throttle, in the lead, veered off to their left and led them to a secluded alley. The three riders pulled up, opened their visors and looked to Jesse.

There was silence for a few moments until Jesse realised why they had stopped.

"Oh, sorry." She was considerably distracted by the lack of time they had, so that when she spoke it was disjointed and vague, "Big bomb. Big truck. That way. Headed to the convention hall."

"Yeah, we gathered that much." Throttle replied, "What do we need to do?"

"Disable the bomb for a start. It has a proximity trigger, once the bomb gets within a certain radius of the target the timer will start." She looked specifically at Vinnie, "If you can get me onto that truck, I am pretty sure I can disarm it."

"Sure thing, Sweetheart." Vinnie answered confidently.

Jesse paused for the slightest moment as the second use of the term 'sweetheart' registered, but she let it slide.

"Excellent." She replied, "Someone will also need to override the autopilot, it should be pretty simple, just a matter of removing the set up from the trucks cab."

"I'll field that one, ma'am." Modo offered.

"Cool." Jesse rushed, "There will also be an unmarked escort."

"Tail whipping detail! Vinnie and I will take care of that. Anything else we should know before we head out?"

"Yeah, time is of the essence." She answered, with a tone of urgency.

"Point taken." Throttle replied as he closed his helmets visor and revved his bikes engine.

Before Vinnie could close his visor, Jesse whispered hastily to him,

"If you can get me above the truck, I can jump. Don't waste time stopping."

Vinnie nodded as his visor shut, and Jesse could have sworn she heard him mumble something about marriage.

With that, the three motorcycles roared back out onto the street in a bee line for the road block. They rode with such speed that the officers maintaining the barrier barely had time to react as the motorcycles valted over them and onto the empty street. Chicago's finest were only just taking cover and drawing weapons as the biker mice came skidding to a halt, stopped by the disturbing image of a massive, explosive laden semi-trailer bursting through the road block in the distance. Police cars flew out of its way as the blue and chrome beast continued towards it destination unhindered. The officers remained frozen with fear.

Jesse felt the rear wheel of Vinnie's bike spin beneath her for a moment before accelerated towards the semi, to her left was Throttle, her right, Modo. Like an unwinable round of 'chicken' the three motorcycles were taking on the 18-wheeler and all Jesse could think about was how she shouldn't be having this much fun.

A few hundred yards on, the entry to the convention hall flashed by in the corner of Jesse's eye and she knew that, judging by the rapidly closing distance between her and the truck, the bombs timer would have certainly been activated by now.

It was game time. Jesse changed her position in the back of the motorcycle, ready for a hasty dismount. She braced herself on the mouse's shoulders as the bike's jets were activated and, with a burst of stomach churning acceleration, she and Vinnie were soaring over cab of the vehicle.

Jesse leapt. She leapt high and arched into a back flip, drawing her sai at the height of her arc. She drove one sia into the metal roof of the trailer as she landed on her stomach and used it to pivot as her body lurched with the rapid change of momentum, and she was spun around to face the same direction as she was now headed. She drove the second sai in just as deep to steady herself.

Now that Newton's laws had done their best to stop her and failed, she removed her sai from the trucks roof and resheathed them against her back. Jesse pulled the dagger from the scabbard attached to her ankle and moved herself to the side of the truck.

As she looked down at the bitumen speeding by below her she caught sight of some debris that was, until only moments ago, the device controlling the vehicle. She looked to the cab and met eyes with Modo, as he was throwing the dummy from the trucks door. Modo smiled and spoke as the dummy hit the ground and began to roll.

"No ticket." He explained.

Jesse laughed as she stabbed her dagger into the PVC trailer curtains. She slipped of the edge of the roof and used her weight on the dagger to cut a large tear in to the curtain. Her feet found a railing at base of the trailer and she removed knife from the PVC, and held it between her teeth and she climbed into the heart of the bomb. Last thing she saw as she entered was Throttle, behind the semi, engaged in a laser fight with a goon in a Dodge truck.

The sweet smell of diesel fuel was almost lost under the suffocating stench of fertiliser. The space was dark, all but the sliver of light provided by the freshly cut hole in the curtain and the glowing red digits on the timer that sat on a barrel on the center of the trailers cavity. Jesse, put away her dagger and made her way as quickly as possible over the barrels and saw she had less than a quarter of a minute to make a decision. This meant no calling daddy for advice, _fuck_.

However, after a second's examination of the trigger device she began to love the ignorant arrogance of the deranged doctor who built it. It was delightfully simple, and even if there was a hidden remote trigger, which she doubted as she was pretty sure she was already looking at it, Throttle had the remote. Limburger had never expected them to get this far, certainly.

With four seconds remaining, Jesse simply and confidently disconnected the device from the combustible material. She began to feel the semi-trailer slow as Modo gently applied the brakes.

This wasn't over yet. There was still a truck load of explosives that needed to be safely disposed of.

As Jesse moved to leave the trailer, she was met by one of Limburgers henchmen that jumped in through the slit in the curtain from the tray of a Dodge truck. Before he even landed Jesse had a nunchaku in each hand, spinning, and ready to attack. With only a few swift strikes, the pony-tailed goon was incapacitated and fell limply to the bitumen as Jesse kicked him from the trailer.

As Jesse re-entered the sunlight, she saw what would have to be the last of the Limburgers unmarked escort vehicles veer off into a street lamp, and the semi-trailer rolled to a gentle stop. Vinnie and Throttle rode past her celebrating and swapping high fives.

She jumped from the trailer and met Modo as he opened the cab door, who stepped down as his riderless bike pulled up next to him. Jesse climbed into the cab before he had time to shut the door.

"Going somewhere, Sweetheart?" Vinnie asked as she shut the door.

"Again with the 'sweetheart'. Dude, I would be seriously checking your sources on that one." She replied with a wry grin, "I was considering putting this truck-full of explosives to good use."

All three mice smiled broadly.

"Don't let us stop you. In fact, we'll clear a path for ya', how about that?" Throttle encouraged.

With a crunch, Jesse put the truck into gear, with an easy-going salute to the biker mice she sped up towards the first road block. She noticed the police vehicles were no longer there, and a quick glance in the wing mirror told her they were at the other road block, probably helping the officers injured when the truck ploughed through.

Jesse turned the truck left, onto the street facing Limburger Plaza, and ploughed through the water filled Jersey railed easily. The Biker mice moved ahead of her, luckily, with the road blocks set up for the peace talks, the streets were considerable empty.

Jesse slammed the accelerator to the floor, and the truck lurched forward, slowly picking up speed, she had plenty of space to get all the speed she needed. She moved up through the gears with perfect timing while she measured the space ahead of her.

The biker mice riding a hundred yards ahead, stopping what little traffic that planned on entering the street, lest they get barreled down by a speeding semi. The plaza was steadily getting closer. She could make out the two foot wall that edged the footpath, and played host to a garden bed that grew the flowers Grease Pit had been picking for her. Behind that however, was her goal; the foyer of the main tower, Limburger's tower.

With a quick mental calculation of angles and speed, taking into account hot tyers and cold road, Jesse pinpointed where she would need to hit the brakes. With that spot a hundred yards off, she took the seconds she had to wind the window down, as there wouldn't be another chance.

In no time at all, the moment was upon her, she slammed her foot down on the brakes and immediately the semi made an almost seamless transition from driving to skidding. Already, as planned, the trailer was beginning to articulate beautifully to the right, Jesse just hoped her timing was good.

The biker mice watched as the 18-wheeler skidded down the street past them, seemingly out of control, leaving thick black tire tracks as it went. They hoped Wild Child knew what she was doing.

Every ounce of common sense in Jesse was screaming "Now!" but the scientist in her, the voice of reason, that happened to sound just like her father, spoke calmly, "hold…hold…hold…"

She looked to her right wing mirror and saw nothing but the blue of the trucks trailer curtains. Thankfully, the cab was still straight, but not for long.

As the truck and its sideways trailer neared the end of the street, Jesse engaged the trucks handbrake and, again, positioned herself for a hasty dismount.

Finally, her second marker came and she flung the trucks steering wheel to the left as close to a full lock as she could in the time she had. The cab turned violently, and the entire truck crossed the intersection sideways, but the cab was still turning.

Jesse leapt from the cab, thinking of Mikey as she struggled not to should 'cowerbunga', she landed into a controlled dive roll on the bitumen and was running the second she was back on her feet, half a second before the semi hit the curb outside of Limburger Plaza. It hit at an obtuse angle, the front wheels of the trailer making first contact allowing for the most possible leverage.

The truck rolled, almost flipped, clearing the garden bed and crashing through the towers foyer like a hot knife through butter.

Vinnie, who had arrived to collect Jesse, spun his bike to a stop and Jesse leapt on without a break in her stride. As the landed on the soft seat and Vinnie's tail wound around her to hold her safely, she pulled his blaster from its holster, and turning, aimed for the trucks fuel tank and fired just as it rolled out of view.

"Oh dear," Limburger said, sore headed, in his top floor office as he watch what was happening below.

Vinnie's tail tightened and she felt an acceleration like nothing before, beside her were Throttle and Modo with the same idea; getting as much space between them and the explosion as possible.

There was a massive boom from behind and Jesse felt the shockwave pass through her.

Against her better judgment, Jesse stole a glance at he scene behind her and saw nothing but a massive fire ball. She buried her head into Vinnie's back and hoped it wouldn't reach them.


	9. New Friends

They rode, without stopping they rode. Jesse wondered where they were headed as they had definitely out run the fireball by now and they weren't being followed.

After several confused minutes, they finally pulled up out the front of a mechanics workshop, 'The Last Chance Garage'. Excited, the Biker Mice all dismounted and opened their visors.

"Wild Child!" Modo shouted, "Where have you been all my life?" He lifted up off Vinnie's biker and spun her around.

"That was one hell of a stunt back there!" Throttle slapped her on the back. "Now I think I understand why they call you Wild!"

"You are one hell of a bad-ass mammajammerette," Vinnie yelled, punching the air. "You can ride pillion with me any day!"

Jesse blushed at the attention. Leonardo would kill her it he ever found out what she had just done. Explosions like that one don't come under 'the way of the ninja'.

"Thanks, guys." She opted for humbleness, "Ah, where are we?"

"This is Charlie's." Modo answered as if it answered everything.

"Oh," was all a puzzled Jesse could reply.

Together they walked into the open garage and Vinnie chimed out, to apparently no one in particular,

"Good morning, Charlie!"

Jesse did a double take, as a parallel universe theory crossed her mind.

"Good morning guys," spoke a disembodied female voice. It wasn't until the brunette head of a woman appeared over the open hood of an old truck, that Jesse forgot about her theory. "I thought that bang might have had something to do with you boys. Oh," she caught sight of Jesse, "who it this?"

"This is Wild Child, the lady we were tellin' you about," Modo answered.

Charlie rounded the truck, she wore jeans and a denim shirt, dirtied from a hard mornings work. She wiped her hands with a cloth as she approached,

"Hi Wild Child, I'm Charlie." She said, offering a clean hand.

Jesse shook it firmly and replied,

"And here I was thinking I was about to be introduced to a speaker box" Charlie looked utterly perplexed, but Jessed laughed it off to herself, "but seriously, you can call me Jesse."

"Well Jesse, come on in, I have plenty of hot dogs and root beer." At these words the three biker mice pushed past the two women and left the workshop through a door at the back.

"Thanks," Jesse said, once she had watched the mice leave, "sounds great."

Charlie and Jesse joined the biker mice in the kitchen moments later, where soda cans were being handed out and hot dogs were being cooked.

They got to know each other over a long lunch, filled with conversation, stories and chit-chat about the big things, the little things and everything in between. By the end of it, they were all full, and lost for subjects to talk about, until, after a long pause, Throttle asked Jesse,

"So, where are you staying?"

"Well, nowhere actually." She answered, thinking she had eaten a bit too much, "I checked out of my motel last night, so Limburger couldn't track me down once I screwed him over"

"Hmm," Throttle mused, until interrupted by Vinnie.

"Come stay with us!" he suggested excitedly.

"Yeah, Wild, I mean, Jesse ma'am. That is if you don't mind living with three guys."

Jesse smiled at his concern,

"I was raised by four men. I think you three will be easy after that." Charlie snorted as she struggled to hide her disagreement. "I am happy to as long as you guys don't mind. It's completely up to you."

"Well, that is what I was going to suggest," Throttle replied. "But Vincent got to it before me. If we are going to be working together, it would make it a hell of a lot easier."

"Alright then," Jesse smiled happily, "just so long as you want me there."

"Awesome," added Vinnie.

"Why don't you all stay here for the night?" Charlie suggested, "There's some good movies on TV and I would mind getting to know Jesse as well."

Jesse nodded, feeling strangely shy,

"OK, sounds good, I'll shout dinner."

By 8pm that night, Jesse had collected her two rucksacks and guitar from the sewer she left them and was back as the Last Chance Garage, curled up on the couch with Charlie, Throttle, Vinnie and Modo watching a Jet Li film.

Yes, it was a new chapter for Jesse. With more friends than family it was most certainly going to be different, yes, but she knew it was going to be just as good at the last.


	10. Epilogue

It had taken only a few days for the rubble to be cleared, a process Lawrence Limburger was far too well practiced at, and already construction on a new tower was underway.

In a cramped, portable site office, Limburger was holed up, licking his wounds and stewing with hatred for the wretched wench that had betrayed his trust and ripped him off for thousands of dollars. Sure it was mostly counterfeit, but that wasn't the point. No, he didn't want that woman dead. He wanted her to suffer painfully and horrifically for the rest of her life.

He was musing over the possibilities of unnaturally extending her life in order to cause more pain when a knock sounded at the door.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding defeated.

"It is me, my marshmellowy goodness." Replied Karbunkles shrill voice as the office door creaked open. "I have some thing that will please you."

"Unless it is that vile woman's lifeless body, I will be very disappointed." Limburger warned.

"All but." Was the scientist simple answer.

Karbunkle had captured Limburgers full attention. A broad, fanged grin split his face,

"What have you got for me, my malpracticing MD"

"These." Karbunkle laid several photos on the desk in front of Limburger. Some were normal some were a strange and colourfull, but all were of the same thing.

"What exactly are these Karbunkle?" He asked, his patience waning.

"Do you remember me telling you that I had a personal interest in fertiliser bombs, my Ever Eviler One?" Limburger nodded vaguely, so Karbuncle continued, "I took last week as an opportunity to get some photography of the explosion, you know, for sentimental reasons. Well, as you well know, there was no explosion to capture, but my cameras did snap these."

"You are offering family snap shots of the person who I despise most right now?" Limburger was ready to explode with rage.

"Ah, Sir, let me explain. These shots are all of that woman, the colourful photos are from a heat sensing camera" there was no notion of understanding from Limburger, so the doctor continued. "if you compare her heat signature to that of the biker mice, you will see she is quite different."

"And what it that supposed to mean?"

Karbunkle smiled a smile that embodied pure evil and spoke mercilessly,

"She is cold-blooded. Therefore she is not human. We can use this to destroy her."

Limburger felt the happiest he had in a week.


End file.
